Sweet, Sweet, Baby Maybe You Should Stay With Me
by PoeticallyPathetic19
Summary: Maybe Sam's music isn't total crap. Wincest, ya'll. Get used to it.


-Note- Collectin' dust, not a good way to live. I can't say this enough, so much love and thanks to my wonderful and overworked beta (maybe you should just change your name at this point), Miss Cinnamon. Despite her busy schedule (and illness!) she keeps me motivated and laughing like no else. Where would I be without you? Nowhere good, of that I'm sure. -Note-

It was funny to Dean that the only way he could put what he was feeling into words was through one of Sam's damn mix tapes. The music that he so whole heartedly and sometimes violently refused to deal with was pouring out his heart so perfectly, it was beginning to make him sick. _My eyes burn from these tears, you'd think I'd learn over these years, good things won't last forever-_no, not forever. How could they when things couldn't even last a year?

They'd just made it past the six month mark and already Sam was ready to get the hell out. Hell, he probably had every bus schedule from here-or any town they'd ever been to-back to Palo Alto down. Sometimes Dean wondered if he waited for Sam to be deep in research mode, deep frown and furrowed brow as he poured over endless books and websites, and asked for the next bus to Palo Alto, if Sam would answer him. Give him an exact time without even blinking or realizing what he'd just said.

Dean had started that a time or two, always losing courage at the last second. Sam's trusting chocolate eyes, glazed over with concentration and sometimes frustration, meeting his for just the briefest of moments to let Dean know he'd heard him. His breath would catch in his chest, his heart beating double time. Suddenly all he could see were Sam's lips, the quick dart of pink tongue and then it was back up to Sam's eyes, turning Dean to liquid without even trying. Just the thought of breaking such a moment made Dean violently ill and he had to force himself to come up with a quick lie. Did Sam want coffee? Help? A quick fuck? Of course, Dean never asked about the last one either. Sam wasn't twisted like Dean, he was made for something more. Something normal-right?

He leaned forward, turning up the volume just a little more with a quick glance in his younger brother's direction to make sure he hadn't woken yet. The last thing Dean needed was for Sam to catch him listening to his music. He'd never hear the end of it, after the fuss he'd made about Sam putting it in the first place; the only reason he'd even agreed was to get Sam to stop looking at him with those all too knowing eyes of his. But Sam was slumped down in the seat, long legs folded up against the dash, chin to chest, chestnut bangs shielding sleeping eyes. For the moment Dean was safe.

The only sound he heard in the Impala was the guitar, the singer's pain drenched vocals following a split second later with words so accurate he damn near shut the radio off all together-_so what the hell am I suppose to do? You only wanted the things I couldn't give to you_.

He glanced over at his sleeping brother once again, wondering exactly that. He'd barely survived the fallout the first time around. Sam was back six months and already Dean was falling into old routines, expecting it to be like when they were kids-only they weren't kids anymore. They were grown men. Dad was off doing his own thing, and Dean was stuck with a sullen Sam-not Sammy, because Sammy was a chubby twelve year old and about as far from it as the Sam that slept beside him could get.

This Sam was nothing but long, lean muscle and nightmares. No, this wasn't his Sammy, and he damn well should have known that the first time he'd laid eyes on Sam back at his apartment. With his model-esque girlfriend and perfect life, mere steps from his law degree and the job of a lifetime.

The disappointment and fear in Sam's eyes when he realized it was Dean in his apartment and not an intruder had almost sent Dean packing. It would have taken one lame excuse and ten steps to the door-because hell yes, he counted- and he could have put that all behind him. _Sam_ and Jess. Stanford, Palo Alto. All the things that Sam wanted, and everything that Dean wasn't.

At least as far as Sam could see because really-_ you had it all anyway._

What was it that Sam was searching for? Love? Family? A future? He'd had all that with Dean. More love than Sam would ever find anywhere else, wrong and right, a family- even if that meant an obsessed and for the most part distant father and difficult older brother who really only wanted the best for him; a future that may have been less than ideal and unusually short but a future all the same.

Sam hadn't seen that though. No, he'd needed those things in a specific way, a normal way. That meant the love of a girl, one that wasn't related to him, and could give him a real family-whatever that meant. Complete with a future practicing law (of all things), going after those who did the same thing Sam had spent the first eighteen years of his life doing. Who knew, maybe one day Dean would have run into Sam again after all. Courtrooms counted, right?

Dean had a mission to complete, one that might be life or death for Dad and he couldn't risk the only family he had left to escape the pain of knowing he wasn't enough for his once adoring younger brother_. So take, take everything and leave me scrambling. Reaching for something that wasn't there in the first place. _Dean's heart broke and with it came his smirk, an _easy tiger_ and whatever sarcastic comment he could dig up despite the throbbing pain in his chest.

It was supposed to be for one weekend, and one weekend only. The job of a lifetime was waiting for him, his interview the following Monday, so Dean made his promise. He promised that his life would begin and end again within a tense 72 hours and he wouldn't bitch once about how much it hurt or how unfair things were. After all, he was good at that after twenty six years.

Only apparently Dean wasn't the only one that missed Sam, and his younger brother's perfect life fell apart as quickly as his own had when that bus had pulled out of the station. Jess was gone, the demon was back and finally Sam saw that there was only so much he could run from- Dean included.

Sam stirred beside him, a long, low moan bubbling out of his throat. Worried, Dean reached a hand out instinctively for Sam and froze. It had been a long time since that had been okay, to touch, to soothe. This wasn't Sammy, he had to remind himself. This was Sam. And Sam didn't need, nor did he want Dean, or his comforting touch.

He curled his hand into a fist, fingers itching to feel Sam's warm skin underneath his. Feel the steady beat of Sam's heart, or the nauseating rhythm of his own. Six months and counting things had been this way. Six months Dean had done everything short of gouging out his eyes to keep from staring at Sam. It only made him want to beg and what good would that do?

The song's next line stopped his heart all together and had he been anyone else would have sent the car flying off the side of the road-_tell me I'm wrong when I say I can't expect you to spend forever with me. _What he wouldn't give to hear those words from Sam's lips. Genuine smile, full bodied laugh and a shake of Sam's head at the ridiculous idea that he would ever leave Dean's side-_I live for that single moment._ After all they'd been through together. After seeing how much Dean had sacrificed willingly, gladly, for Sam. How could he possibly want to leave?

Sam whimpered this time beside him, annoyingly picking up the habit of mocking Dean's inner emotions right along with Sam's damn emo-boy music. How was it that his younger brother had the power to turn Dean inside out even in sleep, when Dean couldn't give a damn about most anything?

The whimpering didn't stop, Sam's hips lifting suddenly as if seeking out the gentle reassurances of Dean's hand. When they were younger Sam had, had nightmares then too. Nothing like now, but nightmares that were all the same terrifying and more than Dean could stand to watch Sam be put through. A lot of the time nightmares came during the time they slept in the car. The two of them sometimes crammed together in the back of the Impala, other times separated at Dad's orders.

The nightmares were worse then and the most Dean could do to comfort Sam was sneak a hand around the side of the seat when he rolled over and pretended to sleep himself. Gently cupping Sam's knee, or thigh, whichever he could reach best. The whimpering would taper off, his body involuntarily sliding further down the seat and into Dean's touch.

Now Sam was mere inches from him, without Dad around to tell him it wasn't right, or that they were too old for such things. It was just the two of them- Sammy and Dean, so long as he was asleep and dreaming.

Cursing his weakness for Sam and the sickening desire building in the pit of his stomach just at the thought of touching Sam, he uncurled his fist and placed it hesitantly over Sam's knee. His brother jerked in the seat, whimpering loudly again and then more softly. Dean slid his hand up higher, squeezing Sam's thigh. He was rewarded by a much quieter whimper and Sam's body involuntarily moving closer to his warm touch.

Dean stroked a thumb along the inseam of Sam's jeans, both for Sam and more selfishly for himself. _It seems I do more harm than good. And I don't know if it's worth me loosing sleep over this. _He'd done this too when they were kids. Fascinated by the sharp intake of breath from Sam and the way his legs would instantly fall apart at the briefest stroke.

He could almost see it now: Sam turning those deep brown eyes up to him, watching uncertainly but trusting, as Dean moved his hand a little higher. He was treading on dangerous waters here, his hand too far up Sam's thigh to be explained to anyone-himself included- still, he couldn't seem to stop. His thumb stroked back and forth in the only steady rhythm he had left in his body.

Then Sam's eyes would slip shut, lips parting, and a stutter of hips here and there. He never stopped Dean, whimpering when Dean was suddenly forced to pull his hand away. But they both knew Dean's hand would be back there as soon as it was safe. Or relatively safe. Dean wasn't foolish enough to believe that Dad didn't know sometimes, he just couldn't bring himself to care. Not when it brought Sam some kind of peace.

Dean had to remind himself again that, that was then and this was now. Sam may have appreciated the much intimate touch when they were younger, but he was grown. Grown enough to know that brother's didn't touch like that. Not even to soothe nightmares.

He forced himself to move his hand lower, closer to Sam's knee as much as he ached to relearn the more sensitive parts of his thigh. The ones that would make Sam's hips stutter, or his breath catch again-double time if he hit it just right. It was probably Dean's weakness for those reactions that let Dad know something was up.

The summer after Sam had turned sixteen Dad had taken to separating them as much as possible. Even going so far as to share a bed with one boy or the other to keep them from sharing with each other. Deep shame had accompanied Dean for the next two years, only magnified by the innocent questioning from Sam whenever Dad did this. He didn't understand why they couldn't share a bed anymore, or why suddenly Dean _always_ had to sit up front when Sam was in the back. After sixteen years of it, it just didn't seem right anymore to be away from each other. Dean felt it as deep down in his bones as he knew that he was head over heels in love with his younger brother.

It was that, that kept Dean from arguing with Dad about the way things were. Dad knew something or at the very least suspected it, and if he was scared Dean would hurt Sam, then Dean should have been scared too. It was the only logical conclusion Dean could come to. Otherwise, why would Dad separate them? He knew more than anyone-besides Sam-that Dean would never intentionally hurt his younger brother. So whatever measures Dad took were necessary as far as he was concerned.

That was nearly seven years ago though and Dean was old enough now to realize the only thing it had done was save him a little heartache in the end. So maybe what Dad was really doing, was trying to protect Dean.

Sam stirred beside him, eyes fluttering open seconds later and instantly falling to Dean's hand on his thigh. Dean quickly made to remove his hand and was met with warm flesh as Sam's hand came down over his. He threaded their fingers together, eyes still locked on Dean's hand. He swallowed hard and turned his attention back to the road in front of them. It wouldn't do him much good to get them killed now.

_I take back everything I've said_. "I remember you used to do this when we were kids," Sam spoke softly, his voice still gravelly from sleep. "Every time I had nightmares-there you were You were always there…."

Unsure of himself, Dean nodded and stared straight ahead. It wasn't as if he hadn't just been thinking the same thing anyway a few moments before Sam woke. Bittersweet memories that had forced him to ignore every warning going off in his brain at the mere sight of his younger brother.

Sam sighed and sank back down in the seat, his fingers tightening around Dean's. "I don't know how you always knew when I needed you."

"I'm your brother," Dean said, more of a reminder for himself then for Sam. The heat of Sam's thigh and the gentle grasp of his fingers made that much too easy to forget.

Sam turned his head to look at Dean, resting it against the back of the seat. His eyes were still hazy with sleep and the sweet Sammy smile from long ago that crossed his face only reinforced that fact. In all of six months he hadn't once seen Sam smile like that.

"You were always more than that," Sam murmured. _You wore those words on your lips. _"It didn't matter what Dad did to keep us apart." _As if they meant anything anyway. _

Dean's gaze snapped over to Sam, looking for more information, but his eyes were closed again, lower lip firmly situated between his teeth. Had Sam forgotten that he'd left? He'd been gone for four years. If anyone had kept them apart, it was Sam, not Dad.

Dad had kept one in the front seat, the other in the back. Or one in the bed with him and one in the other. He had never put hundreds or even thousands of miles between them to keep whatever it was he was afraid of happening, from happening. If Dean had always been more than that, then why was Sam the one keeping them apart?

"Even that last night," Sam started again. "Do you remember?"

Dean swallowed. "Yeah," he whispered hoarsely. "I remember." _Sometimes I feel I could drop off the face of the earth. _

As angry as Dad had been about Sam leaving, even after all the threats and the yelling, he'd made sure Sam slept with him that night. Refusing to even let Sam near Dean for more than half the night, nearly resulting in an all out fist fight. Dean may have been bitter and hurt over Sam's decision, but he'd never truly been angry. So Dad keeping Sam away from him had really only made things worse, had made him miss Sam more than he might of if Dad had left well enough alone.

Half asleep and more than a little drunk, Dean had felt arms slip around him in the middle of the night and had rolled over to find Sam laying there next to him, his face inches away. At first he'd mistaken it for another dream and had almost kissed Sam, and then he'd started apologizing. Soft whispers at first, eyes pleading and locked on his.

Then Sam's mouth had been pressed to his neck, sucking and biting his apology into Dean's skin. He'd tangled his hands in Sam's hair and simply held him close, to afraid and too hurt to return the favor on the tanned arch of skin presented to him.

"I thought you wanted away from me," Sam confessed, pulling Dean from his memories. _So take, take everything and leave me scrambling _."I thought at first that you were asking Dad to keep you away from me.

"Sammy…" Dean said, shaking his head. _Reaching for something that wasn't there in the first place. _"Why would you think that?" Dean hadn't wanted away from Sam since he was ten, and even then he hadn't wanted far.

His brother shrugged and opened clear, anxious brown eyes. "I thought I was pushing you too much, maybe. I don't know…I just thought you wanted away from me. But then you'd put your hand on my leg when I was having nightmares and I thought maybe I was wrong. That Dad was the one that wanted us apart."

Dean pulled off the side of the road and threw the Impala into park. He had a feeling Sam was going somewhere with this and he wasn't exactly sure where, but he had a feeling that having the car in park was probably best for them both.

"I wasn't going to leave you know," he said, picking up like Dean had expected. "For Stanford," he clarified. "That night…Dad wouldn't let me near you and I thought for sure that you…" Sam shook his head and let go of Dean's hand suddenly. He ran his hands through his hair and turned his gaze out the window. Wherever this had been going, Sam was certainly done with it. Dean, on the other hand, was nowhere near. If Sam had planned on staying, then why had he left?

"You thought for sure what?" Dean prompted, eager for any explanation that would mean that he'd been enough for Sam after all.

"It doesn't matter," Sam said, clearing his throat. "You wanted us apart just as badly as Dad did." _Tell me I'm wrong when I say it. _

He didn't bother turning around, just pressed his forehead to the cool glass and waited for Dean to let it drop. Only he couldn't. _I can't expect you to spend forever with me. _Four long years he'd wondered what he'd done to deserve losing Sam, four long years he'd spent blaming himself and he wasn't about to let the answer slip through his fingers. Misunderstandings or not.

"Sam, I never wanted away from you. Dad separated for whatever reason and I did my best to get around it without making things worse, but I _never_ pushed you away." Not that he knew of anyway. He'd always done his best to put aside his indifferent ways for Sam.

His brother laughed and turned around this time, fixing Dean with a hard stare. "Do you remember the night before I left?" he asked again.

"Yes," Dean answered in frustration. They'd already been over this. _Yes_, he remembered that night. He remembered every God damn detail, right down to the fact that Sammy had smelled of cheap shampoo, toothpaste, and a smell that Dean had never been able to label other then _Sammy_.

"All of it?" Sam pushed.

"Yes," Dean snapped. "All of it. It's pretty hard to forget the night the younger brother you've spent your whole life taking care of tells you, you weren't good enough."

Dean bit down sharply on his tongue. He hadn't meant to say that to Sam, to accuse him of taking Dean for granted. He didn't want Sam's guilt, or any half assed effort to mend things with Dean and reassure him that he'd done his best for Sam.

Sam laughed, "That _you _weren't good enough?" He laughed again and shook his head. "Dean, you pushed me away. I wanted to stay with you!" _I live for that single moment. _

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. For the four years Sam had been gone, he'd dreamt of hearing those exact words but he'd never expected to actually hear them out of Sam's mouth, never actually expected Sam to mean them.

"If-" Dean paused, swallowing his heart back down. "If you didn't want to leave, then why'd you go, Sam? No one was stopping you."

Sam groaned and dropped his head in his hands. "I tried to tell you that night, Dean, but you wouldn't listen. You pushed me out of your bed and sent me back to Dad. If you didn't want me gone, then I don't know what you wanted."

What he'd wanted was Sam's pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock, while he tugged on those silky chestnut locks of Sam's and did his best not to lose control of every last nerve in his body. What he'd wanted was to strip Sam down and kiss and lick every inch of his body until he had Sam trembling and begging for him to touch him. What he'd wanted was to pull Sam in close and never let go.

_That _was why he'd sent Sam back to Dad, not because he wanted to lose Sam.

"Sam, you were…" He was what? Leaving the only hickey Dean had ever allowed anyone to give him? Because it was far too close to possessive and he wasn't anyone's to claim, except for Sam. If he had let Sam stay in that bed with him, he would have lost control. He would have hurt the most important person in his life, and he couldn't have that. So if it meant losing out on four years to protect Sam, then that was just fine. _So take, take everything and leave me scrambling._

"You could have just said you don't you think of me like that," he muttered from behind his hands. "You didn't have to send me back to, Dad."

"Think of you like what?" Dean asked, the conversation changing so quickly his head was spinning. He was too busy trying to get over the fact that Sam had been gone four years against his will, to really give what Sam was saying another thought.

Sam jerked upright, staring at Dean incredulously. "You can't be serious," Sam cried. Dean raised a brow, waiting for an explanation. Damn right, he was serious. Sam snorted in disbelief and groaned again. "Dean, I fucking _kissed_ you! It doesn't get much clearer then that!"

Dean blushed furiously. Well, yeah, Sam had kissed his neck, but it hadn't meant anything. At least he'd never thought so. He'd thought that Sam had been scared of what Dean's reaction to his leaving would be, the lack of yelling or fighting wasn't like Dean at all. He'd assumed that whatever happened that night was out of stress and emotional tension, he'd never even thought that maybe Sam had meant it as something more.

"Sammy, you were upset," Dean tried to reason. "That night was rough on all of us, you weren't-" He let out a surprised grunt as Sam silenced his logic with a fierce kiss.

"Explain that one then," Sam panted, pulling back just enough to see Dean's eyes.

If Sam wanted an explanation, Dean could give him a thousand and one for why his younger brother was currently trying to climb inside of him, but as tempting as that was, Sam's mouth was much, much more tempting.

He took the initiative this time and sealed his mouth over Sam's with the same searing intensity Sam had shown him moments ago. He gripped Sam's hair tightly, angling his mouth to deepen the kiss. Dean had been dreaming of this kiss for over seven years, and it was finally here. His brother's mouth was hotter and sweeter than anything he'd ever imagined and for a moment he wondered if he was dreaming. The soft whimpers as Sam opened himself wider, as intoxicating as the kiss.

Panting, Dean broke the kiss and dropped a kiss on Sam's neck, finally taking Sam up on the offer he'd made four years ago. _Reaching for something -_Sam leaned forward and snapped off the radio. "I thought you didn't like this crap?" he teased, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin behind Dean's ear.

Dean shrugged and gave his brother a small smirk, he hadn't even realized the radio was still going. "Maybe some of it's not as bad as I thought." Maybe it wasn't as accurate as he'd thought in the beginning either. Dean was reaching for something, but it was something that had always been there. _Sammy. _


End file.
